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“So,” Ilya says, dragging the word out. He’s swiping at non-existent crumbs on the counter, avoiding his eyes. “You have dinner at parents on Christmas, yes?”
“Yeah.”
Ilya nods. “I can house-sit while you are away. Make place pretty, if you have decorations. Make it less boring.”
Shane’s eyebrows fly up. “What? You don’t want to come with?”
Finally, Ilya looks up at him. Hesitantly, he asks, “You want me to come with?”
Frowning, Shane says, “I– yeah. Yeah, of course. You think I invited you here just so you could spend Christmas alone?”
Looking away, Ilya shrugs. “I am intruder here, Hollander. You have family. I do not. Makes situation… difficult, maybe. You forget the world thinks we are rivals.”
“Not difficult,” Shane says immediately. “You want to come, you’re coming.”
Or: Ilya's in Montreal alone during the week leading up to the Winter Classic. Shane doesn't let him spend Christmas alone.
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Bookmark Notes:
hahahahahAHHAHAHAHAHAHA
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Bookmark Notes:
I loooove
“Ilya,” he says, and Ilya startles, turning with wide eyes before he beams– the full force of it hitting Shane right in the solar plexus.“I made us Christmas tree!” Ilya exclaims, gesturing toward his creation.
Shane blinks, eyes wet. “Fuck,” he breathes. I love you.
Ilya grins. “Is nice, yes?”
“Ilya,” he says. I love you.
Ilya bounds forward, gaze flickering to Shane’s socked feet.
“Why are you not wearing boots?” Ilya asks, eyebrows flying into his hairline.
“Ilya,” Shane repeats. I love you.
“Inside,” Ilya ushers, hand wrapping around Shane’s arm. The touch burns.
I love you.
“Ilya,” Shane says once more, a little louder, a little desperate.
This time, Ilya pauses.
His eyes find Shane’s. He’s flushed from the cold, concern now warring with the joy on his face.
“Shane,” he says, a touch hesitant.
Shane exhales shakily, unable to tear his gaze from Ilya’s.
“I love you.”
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Bookmark Notes:
Fluffy and smutty and feels